Tag Archives: time

Goodbye

This entry is not kink related… This is life related… This is life and aging and loss…

A couple of years ago, my first grandfather died. He was my dad’s dad, a happy little elf of a man who was should have been canonized a saint for dealing with my she-bitch of a grandmother. He had dementia, among other health problems, and was the ripe ole age of 84. He had lived a full life, which is not something that could be said about a lot of my relatives.

Right after he passed my dad and I were in the back yard having a drink, something not uncommon for he and I when I’m home. On that balmy summer night he told me about the last real conversation he had with his father, and how they had said goodbye a couple of weeks before he died, when his father was still somewhat himself. They had had one of those very rare good talks that stick with you for the rest of your life. They talked about fatherhood, about what being a good dad really meant, and how much they loved each other and respected one another. Even though one is never quite ready for something like that, my dad said goodbye to his that night and mentally prepared himself for the actual physical goodbye to come.

I did that tonight, not with my father (thank the Gods) but my other grandfather, my DadDad.

I am the reason he’s called DadDad. He had wanted to be Grand Dad and I just couldn’t say it as a young child, and someone DadDad had stuck even though he was my mom’s dad. He always has been, and always will be, a superhero in my mind. He tried out for the New York Yankees back in the day, and would have played for the team if he hadn’t been drafted… He handled my Grammy, who is a force of nature. He tells the best stories about sneaking into his mother’s basement and drinking the house-made alcohol when he was much too young, and flipping a taxi over in Paris with his Navy buddies, and coming home with a baseball bruise so deep that you could see the individual stitches in his skin that led to my Gram SCREAMING at him.

His background is an interesting one..  Before he was even born his father was out of his life. The youngest of four kids, his father had managed to knock up his cousin’s wife and his wife at the same time and left my great-grandmother for the cousin’s wife the moment he figured it out. I’ve heard horror stories about this figment of a man, this great-grandfather that wasn’t so great that would chain his own daughter to a radiator in the basement for entire nights at a time because she gave her brother’s too much food, or would show up when it was convenient to him to see if the family was making money, and if he could get some when he didn’t know his own damn son.

My DadDad not only survived this, but thrived. He had four kids of his own, and then five grandchildren. He survived the loss of his wife and his eldest daughter, and until now has had minor health problems.

Now…

Now his confident, booming voice is soft. His blue eyes that normally sparkle with humor are dull. The man who used to lift grandchildren onto his shoulders with ease and run around the house can now barely walk. He used to love food, as any good Italian man does, and is now going days without eating and rapidly losing weight.

This is part of life. Humans age. They eventually die. My DadDad doesn’t have cancer. He has no deadly disease other than time, and he’s well aware of this on his good days.

Today was a good day. He was more coherent than he’s been in a couple years with me. Normally, he slips between past and present. He’ll call me by my aunt’s name, trailed off mid-story to stare into space, and repeat the same story time and time again. I never mind. I’ve always loved listening to his stories.

Today there were no stories. It was short. His girlfriend (yes, at 84 he has a girlfriend because my DadDad has always been a handsome devil) decided that he needed to spend the weekend with her, which resulted in a fight between her and my mother… While they fought I helped my grandfather into the car and took a knee next to the car door so that I could talk to him. I hadn’t seen him since June, a visit filled with stories about his mother and growing up.

He surprised me by locking his eyes with mine. They were clear, not foggy, and his voice was direct but soft. “Your grandfather’s getting old, kid. I’m not going to be around much longer. I’ve lived a good life though. 84 years… I never thought I would have lived this long.”

I put my head on his shoulder, trying not to cry. He kissed the top of my head and hugged me with shaky hands. “I know you’re being practical… Just try to take care of yourself while you are around, okay DadDad?”

He laughed. He hugged me. “I’ll try.”

We talked about me being in California. He remembered that I lived near San Francisco. That I had a boyfriend who was older but not too old. That I worked “too hard for someone my age”.

“Are you happy, kid?” I told him honestly, that I was. That I was tired, but I was happy.

He smiled, happy but tired in a different way. “Then that’s all that matters. You look good. I’m proud of you, of who you’ve become. I love you, you know that right?”

Of course I know that… I love my DadDad to the moon and back. I know he loves me too.. I’ve never had a fear about our relationship. Never. He’s been a superhero to me since I was a child. He protected me from the sea witch in the Little Mermaid when I was a child and from an abusive partner as an adult. He knew amazing things thanks to street smarts and protected his house and my parent’s house during Hurricane Sandy because of wiring work he had done thirty years before. He was, and in my mind always will be, invincible. Even with his body failing I see a quiet contentment in him that I hope to one day have. His spirit is invincible, untouched by age and decay, and the memory of his smile and that sparkle in his eye when he laughs will remain long after his body is gone.

I apologize for this entry being so long… This blog has become an outlet for honesty and emotion… and I can think of nothing else right now but this goodbye. Tonight I saw MY DadDad. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see that again.

Goodbyes are hard. They are part of growing up, of life and the passage of time…but that doesn’t mean letting go of a superhero is easy. They live on in legend though, always.

Yours with a heavy heart,

-Rene

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Day 2

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Day 2
Describe who you might submit to and how. Are you exclusively submissive in marriage or just in the bedroom? Are you submissive only in the context of a scene or in a role or throughout your daily life? Are you submissive to play partners or only in the context of a relationship?

There are those dangerous categories on Fetlife when it comes to the amount of time you spend “involved” with kink. ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’, ’24/7′, ‘bedroom only’, etc. What is the line between ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’ and ’24/7′. It is not as if I am always thinking subby thoughts.. but it takes me almost nothing to get there. It’s a look from James, or his tone, or from other partners I play with.. It is definitely not just a scene or role for me. My submission is part of who I am. I fall into it naturally, without a fight… but I fall into it when signals from a Dominant man are sent.

I’ll give you a for-instance…both are playful, as I am a sassy little sub. James and I will ‘poke’ each other. I mean literally reach out and poke each other with our fingers. Sometimes this devolves into tickles, licks, and playful nips and both of us end up laughing hysterically. Other times he will look at me, suddenly calm, and just go, “Really? Really now? Are you sure?” The moment those words are out of his mouth I’m in sub mode, mentally bracing for the nail about to pierce my skin or the hand about to come down on my chest or thigh. I don’t fight him, I don’t question it..because I don’t want to. Because those words are the trigger that make me want it. I want the sting of warmed, reddened flesh and the feel of his nails digging into me…

It works in text as well as in person, at least for me. I have a play partner in San Mateo that will text me orders from time to time when I’m on the way to see him, simple things like “pick up chocolate on the way and I’ll pay you back” or “park in the space next to mine in the garage.” My automatic response is almost always, “Yes, sir.”

However, only people relatively close to me text me…and have that power to get that response out of me. If someone is a casual play partner that I see only at parties then I’m only submissive to them during our scene at that party. I belong to James. I submit to James whenever it is asked of me.. When it comes to playing with others they have to ask his permission, so it almost feels as if I’m on loan to them for those moments, and then I go back to where I belong.

And on a final note to today’s question: why does the phrase ‘marriage’ have to be used? The idea of getting married right now is terrifying… just saying.

Two questions down, 28 to go.

Yours, as always

-Rena

Daydreams and Dulldrums

 

I turn 24 in 10 days.image

It doesn’t feel like it, really… Honestly I feel older. Exhausted. I’ve had a knot in my chest for about a week now, a heavy weight that continually reminds me that I need to find a new home ASAP with shit credit and very little in the bank. And a cat. Who is currently trying very hard to sit on the keyboard while I type.

My friends back east have started asking me what I want for my birthday.. What do I want? Honestly?

I want one uninterrupted day with my boyfriend. I want to get my favorite coffee drink at my favorite cafe in the Haight and show him all of my favorite spots, including the Anarchist bookstore where we could actually afford to shop. I want to get a new pair of boots at Wasteland and possibly a pretty dress to wear the following night at BaGG.

I want to talk.. have those conversations that only happen when he and I are on our own, and bask in the glory of having nothing to do other than enjoy each other’s company. I want to snuggle. Kiss. I want to sit in his lap and secretly (not so secretly) revel in the fact that there is a lap at my disposal whenever I desire (and/or am allowed to) snuggle.

I want him to surprise me.. to take me somewhere I’ve never seen before. He always surprises me.

I want to eat my favorite popcorn tuna roll at Saru sushi and get the yummy salmon tasting plate, and drink sake out of the pretty little glass cups that look way too breakable to be functional. I want to for once not be in a hurry, not be stressed. I want to feel just a little bit special for the day.

And I admit, I want to go star gazing. I want him to be relaxed and happy and just…enjoy the moment. I want one day that is mine.

And yes, I want fantastic birthday sex and snuggles afterward. I want marks and welts and bites and to sob and shake before being fucked into that blissful pleasure/pain state. I want to fly in the way that only submitting allows me to. I want bliss. And then I want birthday spankings at BaGG the next evening and lots of photos and spankings and bruises. I want his hands on me. Marking me, claiming me. I want that half-posessive grab on my leg he does during BaGG that I’m not even sure he notices that he does… the grin on his face that says “You make look, and you may touch, and yes she’s pretty, but this is mine.”

The reality is that my birthday is on a Tuesday… Weekdays are a hard day to get to relax during.. it doesn’t happen. James has been incredibly busy lately, which is a good thing. It means paychecks and photos and him doing what he loves…

It’s just… yeah.

I can’t take a whole Tuesday off… I have to make firsts and lasts for a new place. I have to HUNT for a new place to start with. I have to make double of what I normally do in a single month, factor in renting a truck, moving on my own, loading truck time, boxes, pet deposits..

I saw an apartment two days ago that I want with everything in me.. I’m waiting, holding my breath, hoping they get back to me and say that it’s mine. And if it isn’t? More applications. More searching. More hoping. More praying my bad credit and cat don’t make finding a home impossible.

I know why I am in the mood that I’m in, logically. I understand the melancholy. The desire to just curl up in the safest place I know and just… stay for a while. I know that this too shall pass and that better things are to come.. That I will eventually turn a corner. That there will come a time when both James and I will find that delicate balance between working enough to afford gas and not working so much so that we actually have free time to see each other..  I was just.. hoping I could actually celebrate my birthday.

23 has been hard. It’s been a bitch, quite frankly. It had a good start… I can’t complain about being a Disney princess for a day and being allowed to run rampant around Disneyland… But 23 had a lot of heartache too… a lot of harsh lessons learned and way too much time spent alone. The reality is that I like having a community.. I like knowing people, having friends.. and yes, I like that I am with someone that isn’t afraid of their kinky side… that is as open about it as I am and doesn’t go by some double name (I’m sure there’s a blog post about that sometime in the future).

I am… exhausted. Emotionally wrecked at the moment. But I’m in a state where I can work in the not so artistic way. Get me like this and I can haul ass.. Eye on the prize. I need a new home. And fuck it, I’m going to get it for my birthday. 24 is all new and shiny.. Possibilities are endless. And dammit I’m getting too old to be this lost for much longer. 24 will have grad school in it, this I can assure you.

And maybe, just maybe, I can get some cuddles, kisses, and bruises from James.. As busy as our lives can be he’s proven to be very good at making time when I need it..and knowing when I need it. Before I can fall and break he catches me and sets me back on my feet, then gives me just enough of a shove so that I can start walking again…

Gah. Okay. That sounded like a ball of mush even to me. I’m done spewing, promise.

Off to work now. HAUL ASS TIME!!!!

Yours, feeling old

-Rena

Longings

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I had forgotten how much my arms ached when bound behind me. It’s not a position he normally puts me in, and he hasn’t pulled out the rope in so long.

The bound wrists are tied to my ankles, which rise to meet them from my painfully bent knees. My legs have been pushed to their limits time and time again, my arthritic knees bitching at every turn. I could feel a slight shaking as I tried to maintain my balance on the squishy mattress, keeping my back arched and my ass on display without flopping over or suffocating myself. The soft mattress attempted to suck in my face and I bit back the growing panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?” Ah… the voice. I love that voice, the slight accent drowning out the growing buzzing built by panic. I feel a hand caress my rounded ass and exhale, my body relaxing to the best of its ability in my current position. I no longer feel the strain in my limbs or the rope against my skin. I no longer notice the awkward angles of my limbs. Only his hand, where it touches the area of me that belongs to him the most.

The gentle stroking suddenly turns to six rapid fire, hard smacks on my ass, causing me to cry out. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

“Yes, Sir. I remember.” And I do, very well. I have never been bound before Sir, for any reason. I am slightly claustrophobic, and when I can’t breathe properly and can’t escape of my own power I get panic attacks. Not with him.

The last time he bound me I felt like a goddess on display. He tied me to the bed, on my back, facing the foot of the bed. He took polaroid photos of me bound from different angles and then bent over and kissed me, passionately.

He fondled and fucked, and in the middle of it all, just as my orgasm built and I began to beg for more, he would pull away and pull out his sketchpad. Frantically he drew, capturing me as I was with the emotions of what we were doing coursing through him. I watched him each time he pulled away with half-lidded eyes, drunk on passion and honored that I inspired him enough to be considered muse worthy. I had never considered myself more than average in appearance. Inspiring a talented artist to work was almost an even greater honor than being permitted to submit to him.  Over and over again, he fucked me then drew me, until finally we were too entrenched in the scene for him to pull away any longer. He fucked me bound until I came, hard, trembling in my bindings.

Afterwards, he showed me the sketches and I knew I was in danger of loving this man. He drew me like a Matisse nude, with a simplistic beauty that took my breath away. He made me feel like a was a stunning beauty for the first time in my life, and then topped it all off by giving me art supplies on the way out the door. “I was in Flax and thought of you.” he said, as if it were nothing, handing me pads, and brushes, and a beautiful watercolor set. In that moment I wanted to cry. He made me feel so cherished. He thought of me outside of our BDSM hookups, when I wasn’t tied to his bed. It was the beginning of loving him.

“Do you remember how that night ended, beautiful?” His voice brings me back to the present. I close my eyes, savoring it. His hand cups my ass and squeezes as he asks.

“You fucked me, Sir, until we both came and I had gumby legs for the rest of the night.”

That earned me a short chuckle and another swift smack on the ass. ” I did. And do you know how it will end tonight?”

“No, Sir. But I can hope.”

His hands, along with his body heat, left me, and I stifled a whimper. When he is Sir he points out my little noises and chides me for my whining. It’s not about what I want. It’s about trusting him to give me what we both need.

I hear the ‘pop’ of a cap opening. A shiver runs through my body.

The gel is cold against my skin as he rubs it against my anal opening. It quickly warms as his finger follows, slipping inside and toying me gently. I moan and push back eagerly, or as eagerly as my bonds will allow, causing another amused chuckle.

“Good girl. Someone’s greedy tonight.” He slips another finger inside and I moan. Before I can push back he pulls away completely, his warmth leaving the bed.

I hear the scratch of pencil against illustration board and moan again. He’s sketching me, my ass facing him, all my bits and pieces and pudge on display for this man. Not only does he want me, he wants to capture me. I’m dripping wet by the time he returns to the bed, trembling head to toe and on the brink of orgasm and he’s barely touched me.

A pattern emerges similar to the first time he tied me up. He toys my ass, smacks it, even bites it, and then pulls away. I hear more sounds of pencil on board, and then he returns to torture me once more.

Time doesn’t exist in those moments. Your limbs reach a point where they are numb. You no longer feel the ropes binding you; forget they’re even there. You only hear the sketch sounds and feel his hands on your flesh and in your holes.

Finally, he gives me what I crave; what only he can give me. He seats himself inside my ass and begins pumping vigorously into me. He uses my bound wrists as leverage, pulling me to meet his cock with each thrust, and I know the sketching is done for the evening. I let myself get lost in the feel of his cock inside me, chanting over and over, “Oh Godde, oh Godde. Thank you, Sir, thank you! Oh Godde thank you for fucking my ass..”

And then I wake up. Shaking and midway through another round of “Oh Godde”. My undies soaked, my body tight beyond words, I reach for my vibrator and finish the job in hopes of some peaceful sleep that evening. I force two or three orgasms out of my body, all the while picturing my Dominant between my legs instead of my piece of vibrating silicone, and exhaust myself physically, hoping my mind will follow. I close my eyes again, knowing that a similar dream will appear the next night, and the night after that until his hands are on my body again.

I miss him. I want him.

And I am so grateful to have had inspiration for such vivid dreams.. I may be sexually frustrated, but I am blessed. I crave his hands on me..because I remember just how wonderful it feels.

It’s 2:28 a.m… I need to go grab my vibrator and exhaust myself to sleep.

Yours,

-Rena